Looking for a Place to Start
by SolarRose29
Summary: "2020," Natasha states. "Fresh start." Set in Endgame. ( 99.9 % spoiler free.)
1. Chapter 1

I know we're way past the holiday season but some reviewers on _'b__ring_ _a burning candle with you'_ (yes, I'm looking at you **Trekkiehood**, **Suteko1**, and **ControlyourGroupies**) inspired me to do this short little one.

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The candy cane comes out looking like a spear when Natasha pulls it from her mouth contemplatively. The tip is completely white, sharpened to a point from being in there so long. Unfolding her legs, she comes off the sofa, pads along stocking feet into Steve's office. Harsh light glares at her from the ceiling while she drifts over to stand next to him. Nearly finished candy cane in one hand, she rests the other lightly on his shoulder. He glances at her then, phone pressed to his ear. Looking past him, she reads the headlines open on his computer screen. Riots in France. She shakes her head and uses her sweet to gesture between the news article and his phone. He nods and shifts the receiver away from his mouth, as if he's about to say something to her. Then whoever is on the other end asks a question and he puts all of his focus back on that conversation.

Unoffended, Natasha moves to the window, the property spread out before her like a comforter stretched across a guest bed. There was snowfall earlier, several inches of white laying undisturbed on grass and tree and building alike. With half an ear, she listens in on Steve's phone call. It's difficult to tell when since she's only getting one side, but if she had to guess, she'd put her money on him speaking with a Minister of State. Steve's French is improving, though Natasha will have to continue his lessons if he expects to maintain direct communication with government officials on a regular basis.

It's late, well past ten o'clock by the time Steve finishes, dropping the phone back in its cradle with a sigh. Candy cane reduced to the lingering taste of peppermint on her tongue, Natasha comes back to the desk. Steve's already returned to clicking through the headlines but he pauses to look at her once she's standing next to him again. Natasha settles with her hip against the corner of the desk.

"We could go."

Steve blinks. "To France?"

"To the ball drop."

She can tell right away her suggestion has taken him aback. It's clearly not what he was expecting her to say.

"Come on. It'll be a chance to get out of here. You haven't left the compound since before Christmas," Natasha needles.

He rolls his eyes, absently straightens some papers in front of him.

"Please?" Natasha tilts her head as if she's a young girl and not a burdened woman who's living in a post-apocalyptic world. "It would only take a couple hours to drive over there." She's losing his attention and only has a moment to pull him back. "At least we know the crowds won't be as bad as last year."

As soon as she's said it, she knows it's the wrong thing to say. To him, now, after what happened earlier this year. She doesn't usually backpedal in conversations, and the Black Widow never apologizes, but she finds herself stumbling to take it back.

Steve holds up a hand, cuts her off. "Look, Nat. I don't really feel like going out, okay? Not tonight."

She wishes it didn't sting like it does when he turns back to his computer, to his headlines and the messes he's always trying to fix. When he dismisses her.

Swallowing her hurt, she says one last thing before she goes. "Rocket's putting A Christmas Story on again. Seems like he can't get enough of that movie." In the doorway, she pauses, looks over her shoulder. "You should join us."

The click of keyboard keys slows but doesn't stop. Steve never turns around. Natasha leaves, sits with the others while the movie plays. But she's not watching it. Not really.

Midnight comes. Rhodey pours everyone a drink and they toast the new year. Rocket and Nebula start a competition, lining their glasses along the bar top. Rhodey excuses himself to bed. Natasha nurses what's left in her cup, finishes it and wanders off. She seems to be heading for the kitchen but there's a light on in Steve's office and so she takes a detour.

Slipping inside, she finds him in a similar position to the one he was in three hours ago. It's her turn to sigh now. His head is bent over a file and he's scribbling notes in it. Natasha slides nearer, silent, just watching him. The crease of his knit brows makes him look older, more worried and beaten down than he would like anyone to know. After a moment's hesitation, she throws caution to the wind and crosses the room in a few quick steps.

He looks up just in time for her to take his face in her hands and then she's kissing him. It's nothing fiery or passionate or sexual. But it's warm and long and after the initial shock, he relaxes. She can feel how his shoulders drop their tension and his fists unclench and he lets her kiss him. When she thinks he's gotten the message, she pulls away, slowly though because this is an unhurried, casual sort of thing.

His lashes brush down a couple times as he clears his throat and searches her face. "What was that for?"

Natasha shrugs. "It's tradition to ring in the New Year with a kiss."

Steve glances at the clock. "It's 12:43."

"Better late than never."

He leans back in his chair, evaluates her. "Any New Year's resolutions?" he asks finally.

"Dieting and exercise," Natasha says because it's obvious how little either of them need that.

"I wasn't going to say anything but since you bring it up…" Steve goes along.

Natasha smiles but it turns thoughtful soon enough. "I don't know. Maybe I'll tackle a bigger project."

"Like what?" Steve prompts, linking his hands behind his head.

"Like teaching a fossil how to have fun in the modern era." Her tone is playful but her eyes are sincere and Steve looks away, dropping his hands to his lap.

"Sounds like a lot of work," he manages, voice sort of flat and not quite nonchalant.

"I've always enjoyed a challenge." Natasha takes one of his hands, draws his eyes back to her. "It's a new year, Steve."

He's staring at her now, intense and earnest. Waiting for what she's going to say next, like a man gone overboard waits for the tossed life preserver.

"2020," she states, covering their joined hands with her other palm. "Fresh start."


	2. Chapter 2

I've never been to NYC before. And I've never even watched the ball drop on tv (I know *gasp*) so please forgive inaccuracies!

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If whoever was lurking out in the hallway didn't leave in the next five seconds, Natasha was going to go out there and personally escort them from the building. With her fists. This was supposed to be the season of peace on Earth. Well, literal peace obviously wasn't going to happen but was it too much to ask for a couple hours of sleep? And okay, sure, Christmas was last week but she was willing to accept it as a late present. But apparently she wasn't going to get her wish because there came a soft knock on her door. In situations like this, there was really only one thing she could do: ignore it. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough of a deterrent and the knock came again, but this time the door actually opened a crack.

For the raccoon's own safety, Natasha hoped it wasn't Rocket trying to get her to watch more holiday movies with him. For some unfathomable reason, the little critter was obsessed with them. But there was no way Natasha was sitting through yet another viewing of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. The compound was practically empty this year. The already depleted number of heroes was whittled even further, until Natasha found herself celebrating with Rocket and Nebula alone, the two who least understood the holiday. Christmas had been a muted version of its customary cheer. Rhodey was out of state, visiting family. Okoye had long since returned to Wakanda. Carol was following a lead in some distant quadrant of space. And Steve was traveling through the east coast, helping the homeless or some other noble task-it was hard to keep up with all of his various humanitarian efforts.

So that was how Natasha ending up spending half of Christmas day trying to explain certain traditions to the curious aliens, and the other half trying to stop them from drinking all the booze in the compound. The day after, she'd taken down the decor, pitched the tree out back, and braced herself for four more months of bleak winter weather. She warned them she wasn't going to be in much of a celebratory mood for New Years either. They weren't going to have a party. They weren't going to stay up until midnight. Natasha was going to bed. She was going to go to bed early. She was going to go to bed early and sleep for as long as she wanted to sleep. December thirty-first seemed as good a day as any to catch up on that at least. She'd told them not to disturb her until January first.

Now, someone was disturbing her and the clock on her bedside table informed her that it was very much still December. The door opened a little wider and Natasha burrowed deeper into her blankets, feigning sleep.

"Nat? You awake?"

Smashed into the pillow as her ears were, it took her a moment to fully recognized that voice. Once she did though, she shifted on the mattress, until she could poke her head out of her nest of covers like a meerkat popping out of its burrow. "Steve?"

The light from the hall traced his outline as he came more fully into the room. "Hey."

"What are you doing here?" Natasha pushed up into a sitting position.

When he walked over to her bed, she had no idea how he actually found her knee amidst the mountain of blankets. But somehow he located her kneecap on the first try, giving it a few light pats. "Get dressed."

She narrowed her eyes at him. Even without being able to see him in full light, she knew him well enough to recognize the agitation in the straight line of his shoulders, the way he rocked back on his heels. His tone wasn't panicked or angry but something was definitely on his mind.

"Why?" She tossed aside the covers anyway. "What's going on?"

"Meet me out front as soon as you're ready." With that, he was gone, leaving Natasha to share a dumbfounded look with her closet door.

"Some details would have been nice," she muttered, climbing off her bed and wondering what exactly she should dress for.

In the end, she went with black. Black fit any occasion. So did the pistol tucked into the the pocket of the coat she threw on as she raced out of her room and through the compound. As she approached the front entry, she could see him through the glass, pacing back and forth by the car. When she stepped outside, he opened the passenger side door for her, ever the gentleman.

"So. Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

Steve slid into his seat, fingers curling tight over the wheel. The corner of his mouth ticked up. "No."

He guided the car down the long drive, toward the gate. Natasha arched an eyebrow. "You know I don't like secrets."

"Are you kidding? You're made of ninety-five percent secrets," Steve shot back as he reached the open road and accelerated quickly.

"And the other five percent?" Natasha couldn't wait to hear his answer. He needed to chose his words carefully.

"Sugar and spice and everything nice?" Steve suggested with an impish grin.

"That's what little girls are made of." She rolled her eyes. Trees blurred past the windshield and she leaned to the left to glance at the speedometer. "What's your hurry, soldier?"

"I'm on a bit of a tight schedule," he said.

"A tight schedule, huh?" Natasha hummed, settling back into her seat. "I bet I can figure out where we're going."

Steve's eyes cut over to her. "I'm sure you can. But that would ruin the surprise. So I'm asking you, please. Don't think about it."

"What else am I supposed to do?" She threw her hands up.

"Sit back and enjoy the ride."

"Fine. But if I'm not allowed to think about where we're going, then I'm not going to think about anything." Natasha wriggled out of her coat, spinning it around until it was backwards and she could pull it to her chin like a makeshift blanket. "I'm going to sleep. Like I was planning on doing before you came and woke me."

"In my defense, most people don't go to bed before six p.m."

"How I choose to celebrate the holiday is my business." She tilted head against the window and shut her eyes.

"Whatever you say," Steve murmured, amused.

Shortly after, the radio was switched on, tuned in to a station still clinging to classic Christmas carols. Between the familiar songs, the heater blowing steady warmth at her and the motion of the car, Natasha soon fell into a pleasant doze.

When she woke up, there was no mistaking their destination. "What in the…" She straightened, shaking off the lingering dredges of sleep. "You drove all the way from Maine just to drag me out of bed and bring me here?"

"Yes, I did. Now come on!" Steve wedged the car into a narrow gap between two other cars and shut off the engine. After carefully opening his door, he squeezed out and came around to open Natasha's.

"How did you even find a parking space?" Natasha wondered, sliding her arms back through her coat.

Steve looked immensely pleased with himself. "I have my ways."

"No, really. I want to know how you found a spot so close to Times Square at," she checked the time on her phone, "Eleven forty-eight on New Year's Eve." She glanced up at him. "Twelve minutes. You're cutting it kind of close, aren't you?"

Flurries were dancing through the air, not thick enough to lay, as if they too were tourists only staying long enough to welcome the coming year.

"Come on!" Steve grabbed her hand in his and pulled her down the street.

Even from their position, the noise of the gathered revelers was thunderous, only growing as they worked their way closer to Times Square. It wasn't long before they came across a traffic barrier. Beyond that was a wall of people.

Natasha frowned. "I don't think we have time to go around."

Steve slowed his pace slightly, glancing up and down the street. "You're right." He dropped her hand just long enough to hop over the barricade, inserting himself into the crowd on the other side.

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "Captain America disobeying traffic laws? What is the world coming to?"

"We don't have time for this," Steve insisted, waving her closer.

Chuckling under her breath, Natasha gracefully leaped over the fence and Steve found her hand again. They pushed their way through the throng of people, Steve in the lead, shouldering a path for her. Another glance at the clock told Natasha they were running out of time. But Steve was a bulldozer, shoving past all the people in ridiculous hats and silly themed glasses, with their arms full of beer bottles and balloons. Most were too caught up in the moment to pay any attention to the two latecomers weaving their way closer to the center of Times Square. Natasha clung to Steve, not daring to let go of his hand for fear that if they were separated, she'd never find him again in the sea of people. Truth be told, the crowd was making her nervous. It was the most human beings she'd seen all packed together since before Thanos' victory. As elbows knocked into her and voices screamed on all sides, it didn't feel like half the world had disappeared.

Finally, they broke through to the very front. The ever running billboards bathed the area in multicolored light, yellow and red and white, green and blue and purple. It had been so long since she'd been in the city, Natasha had forgotten what New York was like. Bright, bold, unapologetic. And alive. So very, very alive. Steve said something beside her but it was lost in the commotion of everything going on around them.

"What?" she yelled.

He raised his voice. "We made it!"

They had. Just barely. Before Natasha could reply, a buzzer sounded, signaling the final sixty second countdown was beginning. The crowd cheered, the air charged with anticipation. Ahead of them, Natasha could see the tower, the ball lowering, the seconds being theatrically displayed. At regular intervals, a burst of fireworks flared, popping with color and sending tendrils of smoke curling in front of the clock. Ten seconds left. The crowd chanted enthusiastically, counting out the last moments of the year.

"Five!"

More fireworks blasted.

"Four!"

Steve's hand tightened on hers.

"Three!"

Natasha squeezed his hand in return.

"Two!"

He leaned forward and caught her lips in a kiss.

"One!"

The entirety of Times Square exploded in a deafening roar.

Recovering from her shock, Natasha closed her eyes and relaxed, letting him kiss her. Auld Lang Syne rang through the night, thousands of voices singing together. Fireworks lit the sky, while colorful confetti fell in showers. Still, they kissed, oblivious to it all. And when Steve finally pulled back, he didn't go far, bent over to remain close to her face.

"The tradition is to kiss at midnight," Natasha reminded him playfully.

"I couldn't wait that long," Steve admitted, gently brushing stray bits of confetti from her hair.

Natasha laughed, warm and easy.

"2021," Steve stated. "Fresh start."

"2021," Natasha repeated before leaning forward and kissing him again.


End file.
